I hear and see alot of things in my line of work--most of it I just block out or allow my brain to dispose of. Today, I was privy to a conversation introducing a phenomenon that I wasn't sure existed in our society yet. It's the rise of the Groomzilla. Yes, friends, we know of the not so mythological creature, the Bridezilla, and for some time I suppose the world has anxiously awaited her counterpart. And today, I can tell you he exists. Here's how it went down.
I am sitting at my desk, doing what I do--Gift Certificates--they are a dreadful little piece of my job that I sincerely loath and so when the office becomes loud or chaotic, my mind completely shuts itself off to the task. I was on the verge of having my brain explode across the computer screen in a terribly bloody mess, when I see this highly energetic, youngish male walk into the office. I gathered in point two seconds that he was here to sale a product--my favorite type of individual--the skeezy, swooney kind. Well, he opened his mouth and something like high pitched nails on a chalk-board, and scumminess, with a peppering of southern charm exited his lips. I know this kind. Friends, beware. It's the over-zealous, football watching--never playing, however--bitch beer drinking, out-of-date, metrosexual dressing southern man. I could sense this before he even proceeded to disclose his desire to bring his wife to the resort over Valentines weekend so they could participate in gender specific activites. "Of course women don't love golf, but I do so I can hit some balls on the course while she does girly things at the spa." See what we are dealing with here?
So maybe it will be surprising to you that this particular individual is not, I repeat, is not the Groomzilla in question--however, it would not surprise me if he himself was in fact a pioneer in this new trend. All while buttering up one of the guys at the resort to try and push his product, the metrosalesboy highlights the fact that he has a beard. Why does it matter you ask--why anyone would ask. These southern metros loooove to highlight self-glorifying features, but the beard provided our salesboy with quite another advantageous story telling moment in his product pitch. The beard was forced. It is quite a sad time we exist in when one is forced to grow a beard--especially when said male will have one to two grey hairs sprouting in and he can then self-degradingly proclaim that his entire face is covered in age.
Sigh. I digress--Groomzilla. The beard was apparently part of a forceful and demanding groom, who most likely, under the ultimate power force of Bridezilla, required all the groom slaves to sprout manly facial hair for the big day that no doubt was following pinterest-esque hipster trends. As if it couldn't get any worse, the Groom struck down his newly preemanating manly and husbandly power and demanded the groom slaves don Chuck Taylors with pristinely assigned and tailored, grey, Jos. A Banks suits. The trend has been set. No wedding like it will ever exist again--at least not until Pinterest gets a-hold of the pictures, and every image crafting Bride on the planet begins to re-post pictures of bearded men in grey suits wearing Chuck Taylors. But the Groomzilla--"he's one of those super metrosexual OCD types--he likes everything in order," at least according to the skeezy groom slave.
My eyes rolled to the ceiling, and my head shook and one deep breath later and I was back to writing my gift certificates. Bridezilla's beware: you now have competition, and at least maybe we can finally say that men are showing a concerted interest in their own weddings.
